


out of the wreckage

by days4daisy



Category: Kong: Skull Island (2017)
Genre: Boats and Ships, Crash Landing, Extra Treat, F/M, Getting Together, Huddling For Warmth, Post-Canon, Sea Monsters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:27:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25680547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: Mason has no idea what else might be out there. Their crew, she hopes. Godzilla. Other monsters and mayhem.But for now, they’re together. With everything they’ve survived so far, she’ll take those odds.
Relationships: James Conrad/Mason Weaver
Comments: 3
Kudos: 49
Collections: Battleship 2020, Battleship 2020 - Ocean Witch, Battleship 2020 - Red Team





	out of the wreckage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lirin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lirin/gifts).



Mason wakes on her back in the sand. A cold wave tugs at her legs, and she shudders. The sky is storm-gray above her head. Her mouth tastes like salt.

It takes a few tries to sit up. Her body aches all over, and she spots a new bruise the size of a heel print on her arm. She sits on the edge of the shore line. It’s low tide, but the waves are uncertain, spilling up the sand with an edge of frothy foam. The ocean laps at her soaked pants, salt and sand sticking to the fabric. She was wearing a jacket once, but she's lost it somewhere between their ship and the beach.

Where is the ship?

Mason looks out at the water, and freezes. Out among the waves, two beasts tower over the water line. One looks like a monstrous squid, tentacles stretching out in a ferocious dance. Its bulbous head is menacing with its size, black oil-pools for eyes. It tangles its wild arms around the scaled body of its foe. The large lizard-king, spikes like a stegosaurus mounted on its spine. Godzilla, the Monarch files called this one. If she were capable of coherent thought, she would try to remember where the giant acquired the name.

They war in the ocean depths. The squid-like beast is more agile, Godzilla’s arms too short to turn away the grasp of so many tentacles. But Godzilla’s body mass is superior. It can wrestle its slimy foe under the waves. With every clash, the tide increases, waves stretching taller and more forceful. Mason coughs out the lingering burn of choking water and salt from her lungs and forces her sore body to rise. She climbs to a safer distance, limping on cramping legs.

The beasts are easy to see. What isn’t is any sign of their crashed ship. Mason scans the horizon line more frantically. Among the choppy rise and fall of the water, she can’t make out the boat or any signs of a possible wreck. No broken hull or capsized underbelly. No bodies among the rising tide.

It was a stupid plan, she realizes. The organization behind their blind voyage to Skull Island should have learned. Skull Island’s research has, according to Brooks, led to better funding from the US government. Enough to commandeer a proper naval ship instead of a scientific research vessel.

A fight wasn’t what they planned for. Unlike Skull Island, there would be no dropping of bombs to test seismic activity. If all went well, they would not engage with the alpha known as Godzilla at all. They were following a radar-reported travel path. Monitoring Godzilla’s cycle, studying his behavioral patterns.

A challenger to Godzilla’s domain wasn’t anything they’d planned for. They were there to observe, not become players in a prehistoric war. Skull Island should have taught them to be ready for anything. They weren’t, and now Mason can’t find any hint of their ship. No broken parts or floating bodies. No Conrad.

Goosebumps spring up on Mason’s arms. The coast side winds are frigid at this time of year, but she’s frozen by more than the chill as she sprints along the shore. First to her right, then to her left. “Conrad!” she shouts.

The sky grows darker, and an ominous growl shudders overhead. Mason’s heart trembles in her chest. Her soaked sneakers sink into the sand. “Conrad!” she yells again, scanning the shore line with a squint.

From the depths of the ocean, a screech unlike anything she’s ever heard blares out. It’s like a warning siren, the wail of a bomb threat. Godzilla plunges the sea beast’s massive head into the sea. The water heaves and surges out, an angry white surge tipping the mounting wave. Gasping in awe and fear, Mason forces her dragging legs to carry her further up the coast. She climbs a line of rocks along the top of the shore, jagged gray spikes like crooked teeth jutting up from the sand.

She’s just scrambled to the top when the waves crash against the rocks. A furious spit geyers up, soaking Mason in icy water. The cold goes to her bones, and all she can do is wrap futile arms around herself to try to keep her body heat.

Another rumble overhead, and a shock of lightning along the waterline. Godzilla stands alone. In one hand, it holds a severed tentacle as a prize.

Salt-crusted hair sticking to her face, Mason races further down the coast. From her elevated position, she sees further along the shoreline, but no sign of humanity.

Mason sees a body finally. A lone figure face down in the sand. She knows immediately. “Conrad!” she shouts, climbing down the rocks and back into the sand. Her shoes seem to sink in deeper. Every step trudges forward, the soaked shoreline clinging to her ruined socks.

Conrad is soaked from head to toe. His hair is a wet tousle over his brow, smothering a shallow gash bleeding on his forehead. His eyes are closed, mouth drawn back in a grimace. Heart pounding, Mason touches two fingers under Conrad’s jaw. She feels a weak but constant flutter against the tips.

“Come on,” Mason whispers. With a grunt of effort, she rolls him to his back. She curses her lack of preparation. Does she need to clear his airway first, or begin CPR immediately?

Conrad beats her to the punch. He surges up out of nowhere, and Mason stumbles back startled in the sand. Conrad hacks, water forced from his lips. His hands close into trembling fists in the sand. He gasps for air, every exhale wheezing out like a rusty gate.

Mason lays a chilled hand on Conrad’s back. He manages to look at her, a twitch of his head to the side.

Thunder clashes overhead, and with it the skies open. Fat, freezing rain pelts their skin like raining arrows. Mason’s line of sight becomes Conrad and a haze of downpour-splattered gray. Along the horizon line, the looming figure of Godzilla turns its head skyward. A screech rises up, loud enough to feel. A chill coils up Mason’s spine as the alpha dives victorious beneath the waves. Conrad is watching too. His skin is pale as a bedsheet, a wet shine to his eyes.

“Conrad,” Mason tries. When she gets no response, she squeezes between his shoulders. “Hey.”

Conrad blinks before he looks at her. He doesn’t look all present, his eyes on Mason but not fully seeing her. “We should find cover,” he says, his normally firm voice chattering from the cold. “The others?”

Mason shakes her head. Conrad’s mouth twitches into a thin, distressed line.

“There’s tree cover up over those rocks,” Mason says. “Might not get us completely out of the rain, but it’s something.”

“Right,” Conrad agrees, quiet.

It takes Conrad a worrying amount of time to get to his feet, but he manages. The arm Conrad eases around Mason's shoulders surprises her. But she returns the gesture, hugging his waist. It isn't easy to support Conrad's weight. Mason can’t support all his weight, but she can handle enough of it to get him to the rocks. Luckily, his steps only seem unsteady, no greater injury breaking his stride.

Climbing the rocks is a chore. Weariness drags down Mason’s limbs, and it takes Conrad multiple tries to pull himself up and over. He’s breathing heavier than Mason ever remembers, even chased by Skullcrawlers. If only her camera wasn't lost at sea. Should they survive this, it will be one hell of a story.

Arm around Conrad’s waist, Mason steers them towards the line of brush. The canopy is wide, and making it under the stretch of the old tree branches is a help. Icy rain no longer stabs their backs. The forest shade darkens Mason’s vision, but she still sees better than she could through the barrage. The chill is no better under the trees though, and they find a new problem: mud. Their steps slip through the sludge, shoes caked in it. Mason has given up on feeling her toes. Numb feet carry them onward, stumbling over raised roots and fallen branches.

“Here,” Conrad says. The word sounds like a whisper huffed against Mason’s ear. Mason sees the place at the same time where fallen tree stumps meet over a collection of rocks. The space is small but workable for two, and the earth is dry underneath.

Conrad sinks against the wall of dirt and rock first. He grunts when his head falls back. A slow trickle of blood has made it from the cut on his brow to the edge of his jaw. Eyes squeezed shut, he gasps for air. His hands shudder against the knees he pulls to his chest.

Mason pushes herself under his arm, gets it to loop around her so she can tuck against his side. Mason noticed Conrad’s hands, but his whole body trembles. Leaning against him is like resting on the roof of a car as the engine hums. Mason grabs Conrad’s hand out of his lap and pulls it into hers. Conrad’s cheek rests on Mason’s hair. His arm tightens around her shoulders.

She decides not to comment on his hand dangling against her chest. Maybe in the morning when the air warms and Conrad will have more color to his skin.

“We’ll- we’ll look for them in the morning,” Conrad mumbles.

Mason squeezes his hand between hers. Their fingers lace together with the ease of a couple that has held hands one million times.

She can’t muster the optimism to respond with the same hopeful sentiment. Instead, she asks, “Are you warm enough?”

“Not in the slightest,” Conrad says. Mason can picture his small, shaking smirk even though she can’t see it. “But I’m alright.”

“You better be,” Mason says, tucking herself tighter to his side. Their skin is clammy and wet against one another, but Mason isn’t moving for anything.

“You too,” Conrad mumbles. His mouth moves against her hair, and she answers with a kiss to his chest. Casual, like it’s nothing. And it is. It was something a long time ago, back when they held each other like this for the first time. Tangled in each other’s wet arms, awed stares on Kong as he retreated further inland.

Now, fitting against Conrad is like breathing. His cold fingers scroll across her collarbone like they're made to fit it.

Shivering and curled together, Mason lets her eyes close. She has no idea what else might be out there. Their crew, she hopes. Godzilla. Other monsters and mayhem.

But for now, they’re together. With everything they’ve survived so far, she’ll take those odds.


End file.
